


Transformers: Lurker in the Deep

by The_Foxbox



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers Generation One
Genre: Fanfiction, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-22
Updated: 2017-04-22
Packaged: 2018-10-22 11:34:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,223
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10696176
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Foxbox/pseuds/The_Foxbox
Summary: Taking place in the IDW/G1 universe of Transformers, this tale follows a future Decepticon known as Trapper who will become Snaptrap, Butcher of the Bogs and Commander of the Seacons.  It gives a glimpse into the lives of many Cybertronians before the war broke out in earnest.





	Transformers: Lurker in the Deep

**Cybertron, Before the War**

On the fringes of the Sea of Rust, cities with harbors conducted vast amounts of trade by the use of huge cargo transport ships.  Crates loaded with goods such as energon or raw materials like stone or metal were carried into the many warehouses on the various wharfs composing these harbors.  One of the busiest cities was Polyhex, which was completely surrounded by the Rust Sea.  On wharf nine worked a quiet, unassuming giant by the name of-

“TRAPPER!  Git yer aft over here now!  We got a boat comin’ in hot!”

A blue and magenta colored mechanoid turned his head as he was called, wide yellow optics looking over to Winch.  He jogged across the busy wharf, ducking under swinging cranes hefted by those with crane alternate modes and dodging around the forklifts.  Trapper stopped just behind Winch, looking out at the cargo transport coming in.  Whirling with his mouth open to yell again, Winch suddenly stopped as his optics went wide at the sight of Trapper.

“Gah!  Say somethin’ when ya sneak up behind a guy, ‘Trap!”

“Sorry, boss,” Trapper muttered contritely, looking down at the ground.  He jerked as Winch smacked his forehead.

“An’ no apologizin’!  It’s a sign of weakness.”

“Yessir.”

“Bah…yer hopeless,” Winch grumbled as he turned to survey the incoming cargo ship.  Winch transformed into a tow truck, which had its uses here and there.  So the functionalist senate gave him the position of head docker.  The ruling Senate assigned work based on the function of everyone’s alternate mode.  So…once you got cast into a role…there wasn’t any getting out of it.

There were a couple different classes.  The higher ones included jets and flying vehicles and some specialized scientific equipment.  The middle ones were more of your ground pounders.  Cars and wheeled things typically.  The lower class included construction and labor specialized equipment and vehicles.  Your miners and dock and construction workers.

Lower than them was the disposable class.  Classified as basically useless by the Senate, they were the very bottom rung of alternate modes.  They were treated more like things than people.  They were still granted jobs here and there, but life was especially hard for them.  Alternate modes like lunar modules or data slugs were included in this class, but so were the beast alternate modes.  Like the one Trapper had.

Some mechs like Winch didn’t much care what class you were so long as you were a hard worker, and Trapper appreciated that.  It was a rare quality.  Most others…well.

“’Ey, ey!  ‘Trap?  Ya in there?” Winch rapped his fist across Trapper’s head a couple times, shaking the mech out of his thoughtful reverie.  “Don’ go spacin’ out on me, ‘Trap.  We got work ta do.  Gonna need ya ta take the lower tiers today, an’ ah know, you don’ get along with those mechs too well, but ah need ya down there, ‘Trap.”

Trapper’s shoulders slumped slightly, but he managed a nod.  Winch clapped him on the back with a wry smile before something tore his attention away.  “’Ey, Portside!  BE CAREFUL WIT DAT!”  Winch stormed off to go fuss at the other dockers.  Trapper moved off to the quayside and boarded the cargo ship, travelling down to its lower tiers.

When he got down to the lowest tier, Trapper saw the mechs that he least wanted to see in the world.  Pressure and his crew of stooges.  He reflexively hid behind one of the cargo crates, offlining his optics.  Trapper chided himself mentally and steeled his nerves.  He had a job to do.  Nothing would stop him from doing it.

Standing tall, Trapper strode out from his hiding place and attempted to walk past Pressure with his head held high.  That plan backfired as Pressure, seeing him coming, had stuck out his foot right in Trapper’s path.

_Thunk!_

Trapper grunted softly as he hit the deck.  Pressure erupted into a fit of high pitched cackling.  The blue and magenta mechanoid did his best to ignore it and picked himself up off the deck.  Or tried to at least.  As soon as Trapper had got his hands and knees under him, a foot slammed into his back.

“Whoa, whoa!  Where do you think you’re goin’?” Pressure asked.  Trapper didn’t bother giving any answer, he just pushed against the foot pinning him down as he attempted to stand.  This earned him a wallop to his side courtesy of one of Pressure’s cronies, Stern.  “Did I say you could stand? No.  I didn’t.  See, this is where you belong.  Crawling around in the dirt like a filthy animal.”

Trapper sighed inwardly.  Summoning up the force of will to rise again, he managed to stand up fully and take a step in the direction of the crates that they were supposed to be unloading.  Pressure, Stern and Prow swarmed him almost immediately.  What Trapper registered happening next was a blur of darkness and pain.

“’EY!  JUS’ WHAT DO YA SLACK JAWED IJITS THINK YER DOIN’?!”  Trapper’s golden optics onlined to see Winch full of sound and fury, storming over in his direction.  He scrambled backwards, nearly knocking over one of his assailants.  Probably Prow.

“Nothing, boss!  Trapper here just…uh...” Pressure spoke up, trying to fabricate a reason for the bestial mechanoid to be on the floor.

“Jus’ what?!” Winch snapped and without waiting for an answer, backhanded Pressure.  “This is MY wharf.  And so long as yer on it, I’ll have none o’ this.  Do yer job, or Primus help me, I’ll throw ya to the piranacons!”  Winch snapped his head around to stare fiercely at Trapper.  “Trapper!  On yer feet!  Double time!  We gotta git this scrap offa this boat in less than two breems or it’s leavin’ with or without us.  C’mon, let’s move boys!  Go, go, go!”

In a panicked frenzy, all four Cybertronians hastily scrambled to their feet and began to move the cargo with all due haste, Winch overseeing the affair.  As Trapper hefted up the last cargo container and moved it outside onto the wharf, he turned sharply to set it down when he heard a heavy clunk.

Trapper’s optics widened, and he quickly set the crate down to see what he’d knocked into the Sea of Rust.  It was Pressure.  Pressure stared back up at him with a glare that could have shot lasers through reinforced steel.

“You’re gonna pay for this, Trapper!  By Primus, I swear!  You’re gonna pay!”

“Ha!  That’s a good look fer ya, Pressure,” Winch said, coming up beside Trapper.  He patted the blue and magenta mech on the back.  “Ah, good work today, ‘Trap.  Don’ let Pressure scare ya too much.  He’s all bark an’ no bite.”  Turning, Winch strode back to the main warehouse on the wharf to finish up the days paperwork.  But Trapper wasn’t looking at him.  He was still looking at Pressure, whose venomous gaze was now locked on Winch’s retreating back.  He cast a worried glanced at his superior, but then noted the time and hurried off to his second job.

 

* * *

 

**Nighttime, The Sea of Rust**

Trapper strolled across the bottom of the Sea of Rust, setting up steel cages with energon cubes inside of them.  Right now it was ‘low tide’ when the sea consolidated enough to walk around in without too much trouble.  It was the best time to set and check traps.  Trapper’s other job was actually functionally assigned one.  He was pest control.

Some snarling and metallic clinking sound let him know that he’d caught one of those pests.  He knelt down beside the trap and took a look at the furious piranacon inside.  One of the Rust Sea’s most common inhabitants.  They were non-sentient as classified by the Senate.  Didn’t speak.  This one had somehow gotten its head caught in what looked like a rather painful position in the cage.

Trapper opened the cage slightly, enough to stick his hand inside.  The piranacon’s struggles renewed intensely as it tried to snap and bite at Trapper.  Gently seizing the creature’s neck from behind and clamping its jaw shut with the other hand, he worked it free of the cage’s grip.  Of course, as soon as he let go of its jaw, it bit down fiercely on one of his digits.  Trapper yanked his hand away and pulled the beast free of the cage.

He turned it around and looked it in the eye.  The piranacon knew what was coming.  It glared at Trapper angrily as if to say, ‘Well?  What are you waiting for?!’  Seizing the pest’s head in his bitten hand, he sharply twisted its neck and popped its head off cleanly in one fluid motion.  Tossing its body into the trap, he set it up again.  Piranacons were cannibalistic.  It was just one way to conserve energon.  Trapper moved on.

 _This is cathartic,_ Trapper mused as he watched a sharkticon assail a cage with a piranacon trapped squealing inside.  The sharkticon halted in his assault of the cage when he noticed Trapper’s approach.  It lunged at him.  Sharkticons ranked somewhere above piranacons in sentience though they didn’t quite make the cut by the Senate’s standards.

Trapper leaned forward and tackled the sharkticon, grappling with it across the ground.  This was a place of peace for Trapper.  Solitude.  Just him and the sharkticons and piranacons.  He enjoyed it.  It was his sanctuary.  Few ever went into the Sea of Rust.  Trapper slammed his fist into the side of the sharkticon’s massive head, stunning it.  Drawing out a spear licensed to him by the Senate, he plunged it through the sharkticon’s open maw to whatever spark powered it.

Trapper always killed quickly.  To minimize the suffering of his quarry.  He knew how painful that kind of suffering could be.  Waiting for one of the many painful blows to be the unfortunate, or fortunate, last one.  He turned his gaze to the whimpering piranacon in the cage.  The sharkticon had torn through some of the grating and had bitten a chunk out of it.  He ended it quickly as well.

After more encounters like that, Trapper had completed his rounds about the time when the sea was beginning to liquefy.  He climbed out of the sea and pulled himself onto the docks.  Dusting the rust particles off as best he could, Trapper stood and looked out across the wharf.  It was wharf nine.  A door closing drew his attention over the warehouse.

Trapper blinked.  It was Winch.  Looking particularly irate.  Well, it wasn’t any of his business.  Trapper turned to begin the long walk home when Winch’s voice rang out across the empty pier like thunder.

“TRAPPER!  THAT YOU?!”

Trapper flinched and looked over to Winch, waving slightly.  Winch grinned widely and jogged over, smacking him on the back amiably.  “Well looky here, it is you.  Where ya headed, ‘Trap?”

“Home,” Trapper answered, looking at his boss uncertainly.

“Home?  Hm…why don’ ya join me for some drinks, ‘Trap?  I’m buyin’.”

Trapper shook his head in the negative when Winch clapped him on the back a couple more times.  “Aw, c’mon, don’ gimme that.  Jus’ a couple, ‘Trap.”  It became increasingly clear that Winch was not going to take no for an answer.  Trapper sighed again inwardly and shrugged, gesturing for Winch to lead the way.

“That’s the spirit!  Ah know a great dive jus’-“

 

* * *

 

**Nighttime, The Streets of Polyhex**

“-an’ ‘fore ah knew it, he had rustled up- Oh, look, ‘Trap!  We’re here.”

Trapper shook himself out of the mental coma that listening to Winch had put him in.  He glanced around to find that he was in a part of Polyhex that he didn’t recognize.  He looked up at a blue neon sign that read: Blue Stars Bar.  Winch practically dragged him inside.  Inside were many a downtrodden looking mech and some familiar faces too.  Fellow dockers having a drink here and there.

Winch continued to drag him until they were both seated at the bar.  Trapper would have personally chosen a booth tucked away in the corner of the bar.  But as it was, here they were.  Trapper sighed and glanced over to Winch, who had his hand raised in the air.

“Oy!  Goldrush!  Gimme two o’ the usual,” Winch called.  Not long after, two drinks slid down the bar, one right into Trapper’s hand.  He glanced down at the energon skeptically.  Sliding his mouthplate back, he took a small sip of it.  And nearly gagged.  It had so many additives mixed into the low grade energon.  His mouthplate slid back over his face as he glanced over to Winch who had, bafflingly, chugged his in one go and was lifting his hand for another.

Trapper watched in sickened amazement as Winch downed not one or two, but five in quick succession.  After that Winch began to slow down and savor his drink a bit more, though that might have been because he noticed Trapper hadn’t yet finished his first.  And then came the incessant talking.  Talking about his life and other things that would once again put Trapper into a mental coma if he listened too closely.  However, one tidbit did catch his attention.

“An’ look, ‘Trap.  Ah been hearin’ things ‘bout…these…pits.  Gladiatorial style fightin’.  Jus’ rumors tho’.  Sounds like a good time tho’.  An’ it ain’t sanctioned by th’ Senate neither, so there’s no discrim’nation ‘bout alt modes.  Oooh…ah see that look in yer optics.  Don’ go chasin’ tall tales, ‘Trap.  Senate would never let anythin’ like that last fer long.  Wupah!  Crackin’ down.  Speakin’ o’ which, ya heard ‘bout the new ruling?  Some construction alt modes are getting’ demoted down to th’ disposables.  Poor glitches…It jus’ ain’t right.”

Trapper began to tune Winch out again as he went on his anti-functionalist rant.  He didn’t feel especially comfortable about sitting next to someone who publicly denounced the Senate.  Overenergized or not.  He kept glancing at the door for some Polyhex police to burst in and arrest them both.  None did, though it did very little to pacify Trapper.

After a long while, Winch finally looked like he’d had enough.  He was holding as well as he could in his hands, looking awfully wobbly.  “Oy…’Trap…ken…ken ya do me a favor an’ take…take me back ta th’ wharf?  Ken…ken’t ‘member th’ way to mah place…”  Trapper sighed and nodded, grabbing one of Winch’s arms and slinging across his shoulder.  Winch glanced back at the barkeep and waved.  “Put et…put et on mah tab…”

Pressing onward, Trapper all but carried Winch through the streets of Polyhex, trying to find his way back around to the wharf.  He turned down an alley from a side street in the hopes that it would get him back to some kind of familiar territory.  Only it was a dead end.  In more ways than one.

As Trapper turned around to leave the alley, he was confronted by a group of mechs.  And not just any mechs.  Pressure and his crew along with a hulking bruisers and a smaller mechanoid.  Trapper took an uncertain step back.

“There he is!  The one that the big guy is holding!  That’s the dissenter!” Pressure said, pointing to Winch.  The two giant mechs approached with the smaller one leading the way.

“We are from the Polyhex Police Department.  Turn over Winch to us, disposable,” the smaller one ordered.

Fear sparked through Trapper’s circuits.  He couldn’t run.  They had cornered him.  He certainly couldn’t…couldn’t fight them.  But if they took Winch, the odds were that no one would ever see him again.  While he debated mentally, the police officers were already moving toward him.  One of the larger goons reached out for Winch.  Trapper’s hand shot out before he even knew what he was doing.  He held the officer’s wrist, shocked at himself.  The smaller police officer gave him a look before the larger one raised his fist, and the lights went out.

 

* * *

 

**Polyhex Police Lock-Up**

“Uhh…” Trapper mumbled as he came to a state resembling consciousness.  He glanced around.  He was in a cell.  Graffiti marked the walls.  He was on the floor though there was a bench behind him.  Standing and moving over to the cell bars, Trapper glanced around with a concerned look on his faceplate.  He spotted a police officer sitting on a chair, glancing through his datapad.

The officer glanced up.  “Ah, you’re awake, are you?”  He moved over to Trapper’s cell and gave him what was supposed to be a reassuring smile.  It wouldn’t have assured anyone.  He looked completely disinterested.  “Now…you’re…Trapper.  You have no prior record…but I’ve been told you assaulted an officer…?”

Trapper shook his head vehemently, “I…I just grabbed his wrist.  It was a reflex.”

“Alright…and what is your relation to this mech?” The officer asked, turning the pad around so Trapper could see Winch pictured on it.

“He’s my boss,” Trapper replied.

“Boss?  So you’re a member of his little…dissenter ring?”

“What?  No.  I work at the docks…I load and unload cargo transports.”

“That isn’t listed in your file,” the officer said, retracting the datapad, presumably to look again.  “Nope, you’re slated under pest control in the sea of rust.”

“I do that too,” Trapper said, “But Winch offered me a position.  He said he needed some more hands.  That he’d take care of the paperwork.”

“Ah, I see.  Sorry to say, but your boss was a supporter of an underground movement whose agenda is decidedly anti-Senate,” the officer explained, “Don’t worry though.  If your testimony checks out, you’ll be free to go once the investigation is over.  We’ll still need to hold you until it’s concluded though.  Make yourself comfortable.  Energon rations are distributed daily.”

The officer left, leaving Trapper stunned.  He staggered back and sat down on the bench with his head in his hands, staring down at the ground in disbelief.  This…This all happened because of Pressure.  But he just couldn’t understand it.  Why?  Why did Pressure hate him so much?  What had he done to deserve this?  What had Winch done?

Cycles passed.  The energon rations were meager.  The cells grew noisy as rowdy prisoners moved into them and then quiet again when they moved out.  Trapper sat in his cell in a daze.  He finally snapped out of it when a peculiar, repetitive, tapping sound annoyed him out of it.

“Hey.  Psssssst!  Big guy…hey!  C’mon answer me, will ya?”

“What?” Trapper growled out in irritation.

“Whoa!  He speaks!  Hey there.  Name’s Swindle.” A hand stuck out from the cell beside him in front of his cell.  Trapper looked at it as if it were a piranacon doing a jig.  “No shake?  Well, alright.  You look like a bit of a bruiser, huh?  I heard you were in for assaulting an officer…Nice!  Well, I’ve a little…monetary type offer for you.  Interested?”

“No.”

“Whoa, whoa, lemme finish before you shoot me down.  Ever heard of the Pits?  Hm?”  Swindle paused for a moment before continuing, “They’re these little arenas where…brawls for the entertainment of all Cybertronians regardless of function take place.  It’s a great time.  Really.  And well…you seem like a bit of a scrapper, huh?  Here.”

Swindle tossed a data slug through the cell bars.  “Just think about it, okay?”

Trapper glanced down at the data slug.  Despite himself, he was intrigued.  He knelt down and scooped the slug up, stowing it somewhere safe.  Almost as soon as Trapper had done that, the door at the end of the hall screeched open.

“Scrap, they’re here already?” Swindle whispered, “Act natural!”  Trapper listened intently as the guards approached, hoping that he would finally be free to go.  Unfortunately, it was Swindle whom they came for.  They took him and left, leaving Trapper alone once more.  He let out a heavy sigh.

One of the officers, having heard Trapper, walked back and glanced into his cell.  It was the one that had interrogated him cycles ago.  “What are you still doing here?  I thought they gave the order to release you cycles ago,” he said, clearly baffled at Trapper’s continued presence in the cell.  He unlocked the cell and opened it, gesturing for Trapper to get out.  “Come on.  Out.”

Trapper stood uncertainly and moved past the police officer, the officer closing the cell behind him.  He was escorted out of the station and outside.  It was nighttime.  And he was alone on the streets of Polyhex.  Trapper dragged himself back to his home, which constituted a makeshift shelter under a bridge on the very edge of the Sea of Rust.  A piranacon awaited him in his little hut and hissed at him as he approached.  Trapper grabbed one of his spears, resting against the outer wall of his hut, and killed it almost immediately.  He had absolutely no patience left.  He collapsed inside of his hut and entered a deep recharge cycle.

 

* * *

 

**Polyhex, Wharf Nine**

Trapper reported to work to the docks, though he was in something of a sorry state.  He glanced around for Winch wondering what assignments the noisy mech had slated for him today.  What he saw instead confused his energon starved mind.  Pressure was barking orders to the dockers with Prow and Stern relaying them across the cargo ship.

Trapper’s optics narrowed as he approached Pressure, tapping the mech lightly on the shoulder.  Pressure flinched and rounded with a vicious slap to Trapper’s head.  “How many times to I have to tell you idiots not to sneak- Oooooh…Trapper….”  A wicked sneer spread across Pressure’s faceplate.  “They finally let you out, huh?  Well, as you can see, I got promoted.  I’m the boss now.”

“Where is Winch?” Trapper asked, his face unreadable as he stared down at Pressure.

“I don’t know,” Pressure said dismissively.  “Figure the police still got him.  Didn’t think I would see you or him again.”

“What did you do?!” Trapper growled, seized by anger for a moment, grabbing Pressure’s collar and pulling him close.

“Ah…I would let go if I were you, disposable,” Pressure rumbled dangerously.

Trapper blinked for a moment and looked down at where he had grabbed Pressure.  He let go and staggered back in shock.  He hadn’t…what had come over him?  Pressure smirked imperiously.  “Good, good.  Now, you should know that I just did my civic duty.  I simply must report someone after I learn that they’ve been illegally employing disposables, and they actively denounce the Senate at a public bar!  What else could I do?”

Trapper could only stare at Pressure in disbelief.  “Now, disposable, we have a problem…sss…You see…You’re not employed by the wharf anymore…and we just really can’t…afford to employ you…”  Pressure pursed his lips together in mock sorrow.  “Hey, but…you know…I could cut you a break and employ you as my personal assistant.  How’s that sound, huh?”

Trapper stared with wide optics at Pressure.  Due to his size and alternate mode, he needed more energon than average, which was why he had to work two jobs in the first place.  If…he was cut off from the dock then…he wouldn’t get enough energon to function.  He’d rust away into nothing as he entered stasis lock.

“What…What would I have to do?” Trapper managed to choke out.

“Ooh, let’s see…” Pressure cackled with glee, “Hm…transform.  I want to see what kind of beast you are.  Oh, and stay that way.  Disposables need to know their place after all.”

“Why do I-“

“Ah-ah!  No talking!  Beasts do not speak,” Pressure chided.  The imperious mech looked at Trapper expectantly.  As Trapper felt himself being crushed between his dignity and his need to survive, something welled up from within him.  Something cold.  Something cruel.

Trapper rarely assumed his alternate mode.  He felt a measure of shame when using it alongside the cranes or forklifts or any of the higher class alternate modes.  Like he was overstepping himself.  Like he was a lesser creature.  Not this time.  As his gears churned and parts shifted, Trapper doubled over as he assumed his alternate mode.

Reptilian golden optics gleamed with a fierce intensity.  A shell armored amphibious beast formed from what was once Trapper.  Pressure’s faceplate contorted giddily.  As he raised his leg to plonk it atop Trapper’s shell, the amphibious reptile lunged with an open maw.

_CRUNCH!_

With a snap and crunch, Pressure’s leg separated from his body.  The stunned Cybertronian toppled backwards and landed with a thud, staring wide-opticed at his stump of an appendage.  Trapper snarled and stepped forward menacingly, making Pressure reel back in terror.

“H-Help!  Help me!” Pressure cried out, causing Prow and Stern to race over as well as a few other curious passerby.  Trapper glanced around, seeing the crowd drawing in and transformed back into robot mode.  He sprinted toward the edge of the quay and leaped off into the Rust Sea.  He plunged into its strange liquid form and transformed again, using his aquatic alternate mode to swim deeper and deeper, and farther and farther away from Polyhex.

 

* * *

 

**Somewhere in the Sea of Rust**

Trapper trudged along weakly as the Rust Sea began to consolidate into its desert form.  His energon levels were low.  He needed to find someplace to hide before any search parties came looking.  If they hadn’t deployed fliers already.  Though…if he thought about it…he wasn’t sure that they would send anyone looking for a runaway member of the disposable class.  Pressure, sure, but the city of Polyhex or the Senate?  Surely they had bigger things to worry about.

As Trapper’s thoughts drifted toward the underground group, he remembered Winch and Swindle’s words about the Pits.  Transforming back into robot mode and carefully handling the data slug that Swindle had given him, he accessed its contents.  A date.  A location.  Presumably of the next Pit.

Trapper checked his internal clock.  It was in two days.  Going to be held at Tarn.  Where…where was he?  Figuring that out was less trivial.  He knew roughly that he had been heading straight away from Polyhex and that wharf nine pointed in the general direction of Tarn.  If he kept going until he left the Sea of Rust…then he would probably make it.  He glanced at his energon levels.  But he would hardly be in any shape to fight unless he found some energon.

Trapper’s head snapped up as movement ahead alerted him.  He drew out one of his collapsible spears and prepared for a fight.  Fortunately, it wasn’t an angry mob out to drag him back to Polyhex.  Unfortunately, it was a school of ravenous piranacons.  They spotted him quickly and charged.  Trapper lunged with his spear, impaling one of them but getting bitten and swarmed by the rest.

He snarled and transformed, his shell armor giving him some additional protection as he snapped at the piranacons and trampled them under his feet.  After a breem or so, Trapper was the only living thing left standing.  Energon pooled out from the various wounds on the piranacons.  Trapper stared for a moment, then transformed and picked one up, holding it above his head.  He retracted his mouthplate and drank the energon, repeating this process for each of them.

Primal.  Bestial.  That was what some would consider his behavior.  But at that moment, Trapper did not care.  He would do what was necessary.  He glanced down at the data slug.  A new life awaited him in Tarn.  And…maybe, it would be a better one.  Standing up, Trapper collected his spear from the impaled piranacon and put it and the data slug away.  He was bound for Tarn.

 

* * *

 

**Outskirts of Tarn**

Cradled by a valley, the Rust of Sea tapered off before reaching the city of Tarn.  A lone mechanoid stood on one of the cliffs forming this valley, staring down wistfully at the churning water fluids.  The winds kicked up a bit of powdery rust from the surface of the sea and carried it skyward.  The blue mechanoid sighed happily.

“Huh?” he uttered as he saw something bob to the surface of the sea.  It was a blue…blue round thing.  Like a ball?  He kneeled down over the edge of the cliff and leaned out, straining his optics to make out whatever it was drifting in the sea.  It was…headed in his direction.  Kinda bobbing in and out of view as it sunk and rose to the surface.  What even…was that?

As it got close enough for the blue mech to begin to pick out some kind of indentations on the round blue thing it disappeared into the unstable planetary matter that composed the Sea of Rust.  After a long moment, it seemed like it had gone away.  The blue mech tilted his head and sighed, feeling kind of sad that he hadn’t gotten to find out just what it was.

A hand shot out of the rust right for the mech, causing him to reel backwards in surprise as he let out a little squeak of fright.  The hand latched onto the edge of the cliff and was soon followed by another, heaving a rather large and imposing mech out of the Sea of Rust.  The blue mech stared at Trapper like he was simultaneously the most awesome and terrifying thing that he’d ever set optics on.

Trapper looked down at the mech uncertainly before glancing from side to side warily.  He looked back to the mech on his aft.  “You never saw me.  Understand?”  The mech nodded his understanding.  Good enough.  Trapper swept past the mech and continued his march toward Tarn, bite marks and other perforations marking his armor.

The stunned blue Cybertronian stared after him with his mouth hanging slightly ajar.  Looking on in shock long after the Trapper had vanished from view, the land-lock mech finally returned to his senses.  “Oh slag!  It’s gonna start soon!”  Hurrying to his feet, he dusted himself off and made to make a dash for Tarn when he remembered that larger mech.  He had gone that way too.  Maybe he would see him again!

 

* * *

 

**Tarn**

Examining his injuries mildly, Trapper wondered whether he were really fit enough to do this.  His energon wasn’t leaking out or anything like that, but his limbs ached, and his armor was marked by gashes.  But if he didn’t do this, then he would have no money to get repairs or even energon.  Trapper really didn’t have a choice.

Trapper had kept to the outskirts of the city for the most part, unsure if he was considered a fugitive or not.  But the coordinates…they were well within the city and slightly…under it.  Which was why Trapper sought a service tunnel.  Many had fallen into disrepair after the Golden Age and his kind tended to make a home out of them.

After a bit of searching, Trapper found an old station.  Stepping down the stairs, he looked around cautiously.  A dark cylindrical tunnel stretched out horizontally before him.  To either side, just seemingly random collections of junk, but looks could be deceiving.  Others of his class probably resided here, hiding their homes for fear of thieves.  Trapper was better than most at recognizing the signs.

To his optic, only one camp existed here, but how many occupants it had was another matter.  Some, like him, were solitary, but others lived in groups.  Still, they didn’t seem to be around, so it did not concern him at the moment.

Pressing on, Trapper entered the cylindrical tube and trudged on into the darkness.  His footsteps crunched the powdery debris beneath his feet.  Letting out a quiet sigh, he tracked his progress constantly.  It seemed as if going through the tunnel system had been the correct decision.  As he reached a junction, he paused.  Three ways to go.  The most direct route would be continue on straight ahead.  Could be a dead end though.  He didn’t have a lot of time before this Pit was supposed to happen either.

Pressing on, Trapper went with the most direct path, going at his relatively steady pace.  After a long breem or two, he noticed a slight change in the luminosity of the tunnel.  It was getting brighter.  Ahead, the light at the end awaited him.  As he breached into the light, Trapper came out into an enormous cavern.  Several old transport shuttle husks were strewn about.  Much further ahead, some of the shuttles were pushed into a circular ring.  The arena presumably.

Upon further examination, Trapper could see mechs scattered throughout the area below in throngs.  Well, this was it.  Movement to the side caused Trapper to flinch and whirl about to face the presumed assailant.  It was a large mech, but a little shorter than him.

“I haven’t seen you around before,” the mech grumbled aggressively, “Who are you supposed to be?”

Trapper took a step back as the mech kept coming before digging out the data slug.  “Someone named Swindle gave this to me.”

“Oh, you’re one of Swindle’s recruits?  That’s fine then.  Just go on down until you get to the arena,” the mech said, pointing down to the ring, “See that red shuttle there?  That’s where you can sign up.  Good luck.”

Moving past the gatekeeper and down a slight slope to the transport shuttle graveyard, Trapper observed other mechanoids milling about.  Several of the shuttle husks had been converted to merchant stalls.  Some offered energon or refreshments.  Others had paraphernalia of all kinds.  Trapper looked over at one stall.  It was selling cheap looking models of a…two-headed reptilian Cybertronian?

Trapper shook his head and pressed on.  He soon found the red shuttle.  It had been crudely painted red to make it stand out from the other shuttles.  To his mild surprise, there was no one currently in line.  He stepped up to the counter.  A rather bored looking green and purple mechanoid was fiddling with a datapad.  After a long moment of the mechanoid not noticing him, Trapper tried clearing his vocal processor to get his attention.

“I see you,” said the green and purple mech, not bothering to glance up from his datapad.  He let out a prolonged sigh and lifted his optics to Trapper. “Hm…don’t recognize you.  This is where fighters sign up.  Spectator entrances are over there,” he said, waving in a general direction behind Trapper.

“I am here to fight.”

“Pffffffffft! You?” the mech began to chuckle, “But you’re a mess!  You wouldn’t last a breem.”

“I came to fight,” Trapper insisted grimly.

“Alright, if you insist,” the mech said, finally relenting, “But it’s your funeral.  Name?”

“Trapper.”

“You’ll be going up against-“

“Hook!  Hook!” called a voice from afar.

“Oh Primus, help me…” the green and purple mech mumbled.  Swindle popped out from behind a nearby shuttle and jogged over to the counter, slapping a piece of junk down on it.

“I found one,” Swindle said, grinning from audio to audio.  Hook glanced down at the rust-coated part in disgust.

“I’m not paying for that.”

“What?!  This is the best value for your shanix!”

“No."

“Tch, fine,” Swindle grumbled, swiping the part off of the counter and stowing it away somewhere.  “If you change your mind, you know where to find me.”  Swindle turned to walk away, pausing as he looked at Trapper.  “Hey…Don’t I…Oh!  You’re that bruiser from Polyhex!  You made it!  I knew it.  I never forget a face, you know.”

Swindle gave Trapper a big grin and clapped the larger mech on his back.  “Looking forward to seeing you in action.  I’ll be putting some shanix on you!”  With a little wave, Swindle moved off, disappearing into the maze of transport shuttle husks.  Trapper watched him go before turning back to Hook.

“Don’t believe a word that charlatan says,” Hook said flatly.  “Anyway, your opponent is…Goldion.  You can go on in there and wait to be called in.  Now get out of my face.”

Trapper turned to the hole carved out of one of the shuttles.  He supposed that this was what Hook had meant by ‘there’.  He stepped inside and marched onward into the darkness.  Shuffling through the tight confines of the shuttle, he finally came out to a smaller ring of shuttles that had their outer casing cut off to allow for easy access to the benches within the shuttles.

Several Cybertronians were scattered throughout the area.  No one that Trapper recognized.  He took a seat on an empty bench and glanced around at what he supposed was the competition.  One lanky mechanoid spotted him, perking up slightly.  Trapper’s optics narrowed as dread began to fill him.  He sat down next to Trapper and fidgeted.  Trapper covered his face with a hand, applying gentle pressure his temples.

“Hey.”

Trapper didn’t respond.  Maybe if he just ignored him, the pest would go away.

“Psst.”

Any second now.

“Hey!  Big guy?”

When Trapper was nudged by the lanky mechanoid, he lifted his head up and stared with intense disdain at him.  The lanky mech was completely oblivious.  He gave Trapper a big smile and stuck out his hand rigidly.  “Hey!  I’m Sharp!”

“Clearly not,” Trapper grumbled under his breath.

“Huh?  Well, anyway, let’s be friends!  Buddies!  Pals!  We’ll stick together through thick and thin, grease and gristle!  What’dya say, uh…didn’t catch your name!”

Trapper sighed deeply.  “Trapper,” he said.

“Trapper, huh?  Hm…I like it!” Sharp said with a grin.  “So, how about it, Trapper?  We can help each other out.  Sometimes they do free-for-alls!  We can team up and take the Pit by storm!  The dynamic duo for the ages!”

“Alright,” Trapper said simply, wanting nothing more to do with Sharp. “Will you leave me be?”

“Oh, sure!  You wanna focus.  I get it, I get it.  Good luck today!” Sharp patted Trapper lightly on the back before scuttling away to a different corner of the waiting area.  Trapper couldn’t have been more pleased.  Screens that hung above each of the shuttles flickered online, attracting the blue Cybertronian’s attention.  On it, a silver Cybertronian appeared.  He had fierce red optics that bespoke a certain ferocity, though Trapper could tell that he was likely a miner.  Or used to be anyway.

>>”Greetings fellow Cybertronians,”<< the silver mechanoid began, >>”I am Megatron, leader of the Decepticon revolutionary movement!  We are here in recognition of that which makes us great.  That which the Senate refuses to acknowledge!  Our worth as Cybertronians.  This shall be testament to what we can accomplish outside of their dominion!”<<

>>”To those of you who fight tonight, show us what you’re made of!  Fight!  Tear your opponent apart.  Show us your mettle.  Let it begin.”<<

The screen flickered off as a roar from the crowd echoed through the cavern deafeningly.  Feeling slightly uneasy, Trapper knit his actuators together and steeled his nerves.  There was no turning back for him.  He had to do this.  He must.  So distracted by this own worries, Trapper almost missed a diminutive mechanoid trot past him.  His amber optics flicked over to the small bot who stepped over to a shuttle door.

“Alright, ahh…We got a Trapper here?”

He was first? That didn’t seem right.  He was the last to sign up.  Regardless, Trapper stood, which attracted the attention of the little mech.  “Hey!” the little called as Trapper moved over to him.  “You’re up!  Give these people a rumble for Rumble!”

“…”

Trapper just stared.

“Me.  I’m Rumble.  Never mind.  Just get out there!” Rumble grumbled hitting the switch on the shuttle door.  It slid open with a slight hiss.  Rumble waved him inside dismissively.  Heaving another inward sigh, Trapper moved past the little mech and into the darkness of the shuttle confines once again.  However, he could very clearly see to the end out onto the expanse of the arena.

As he stepped into the light, the crowd seated all around him burst into a roar.  Trapper flinched at the noise as his optics adjusted.  Surrounded by a sea of Cybertronians.  All their optics on him.  It was a new sensation for Trapper, one who had spent so much time beneath the notice of most.  An uncomfortable one.

His optics snapped forward as the crowd erupted into an even louder roar.  His opponent Goldion had arrived.  Much like his name, the mechanoid was entirely golden.  He was sporting…a massive war hammer?  Trapper’s optics widened at the revelation.  He had assumed that this would be hand to hand.

Goldion grinned widely at the crowd and lifted his hammer over his head, spinning it before slamming it down on the ground.  The crowd ate it up and increased in volume.  Trapper stood uncertainly for a moment before drawing out his extendable spear.

>>”Heeeeelloooo, my good gentlemechs!  Your old pal Frenzy here!  The first of match of the Pits is…the dome-splitting Goldion!  You know him, you love him, you love to hate him!  This hammer wielding gladiator is no joke!”<< exclaimed a voice over some loud speakers.

>>”Versus a new contender who is making his debut tonight!  He goes by the name of Trapper!  Let’s see if this new scrap metal can hold his own against a tested Pit vet or if he’ll be joining the junk heap!  Ready down there?  Fight!”<<

Trapper locked his amber optics onto Goldion who smirked back at him.  “Bad luck, scrap metal,” Goldion chuckled out as he began to move toward Trapper, “You’re not gonna make it out of here alive, much less in one piece!”  Bracing himself and holding his spear out in front of him defensively, Trapper stood his ground.

Goldion paused in his approach and laughed. “That little poker isn’t gonna do squat to stop my hammer,” he chuckled.  Spreading his arms out invitingly, Goldion left himself open and vulnerable to attack.  “Come on.  I’ll let you get a hit in.”  The golden Cybertronian smirked as Trapper shifted uncertainly.

“Going once…”

Trapper’s optics widened as he stared at the cruelly sneering Goldion.

“Going twice…”

Tightening his grip on his spear, Trapper steeled his nerves and charged forward, the tip of his spear aimed squarely for the center of Goldion’s chest.  Goldion began to move, causing Trapper to hesitate for a split astrosecond.  In that time, Goldion sidestepped Trapper’s thrust and swung his hammer around to collide with Trapper’s back, sending the blue mech sliding across the arena.

“Gone,” Goldion whistled as he noted the distance that Trapper had slid.  “Ooh, that might be a new record.”

In a bit of shock, Trapper recovered slowly from his tumble, gathering his feet under him.  In that time, Goldion moved to his side, drawing back his hammer for a blow to Trapper’s side.  “You know…” Goldion began, the amusement beginning to drain from his face.

_KRAK!_

Another painful blow.  Slamming into the arena wall, Trapper grunted painfully before rising to his knees once more.  Goldion, swinging his hammer about haphazardly, continued his approach.  “I don’t think you get it, rookie.”  Trapper forced himself to his feet this time, bringing his spear to bare once more.  “This is the Pit,” Goldion continued.

Trapper hefted his spear and thrust it at his opponent who deflected it with the hammer head.  Goldion lashed out with a hand, taking Trapper by surprise and seizing him by his neck.  “We fight with our lives on the line.  There are those who win,” Goldion tightened his vice-like grip on Trapper’s neck.  While Cybertronians had no need to breathe, it was still an incredibly painful sensation.  “Or those who die.”

Tossing Trapper aside like a piece of scrap metal, Goldion lifted his hammer high over his head to deliver the kill stroke.  “It’s as simple as that.”  Goldion grunted as he swung the hammer down full force.

It collided with something incredibly hard, causing a dull tone to ring out through the air.  Goldion felt the reverberations through his own hammer, which vibrated in his hands violently.  “What?!”  And then he saw it.  Trapper had transformed just in the nick of time.  His reptilian alternate mode’s shell had taken the brunt of the impact.

“Tch.  That won’t save you!” Goldion snarled as he swung his hammer back to strike once more at Trapper’s side.  Trapper hastily lunged and bit down hard on Goldion’s leg, his vice-like jaw severing armor and servo neatly.  The golden gladiator grunted in pain, but did not stop, swinging his hammer and bashing it into Trapper’s side.

The tortoise flipped end over end a few times from the sheer force of the blow, somehow ending back up on his feet.  However, Trapper hadn’t gone without damage as before.  A crack on his underside leaked out energon slowly.  His armor was…weaker there?  Trapper shook his head to clear it, the pain dizzying and disorientating.

By the time he had managed to refocus his optics, Goldion was upon him.  His optics widened as he saw Goldion bring his hammer up.  Trapper jerked away, but it was too late.  The hammer came down.

_KRSPURT!_

Goldion grinned.  He hefted his hammer back up over his shoulder, staring down at the pink and blue mess of what used to be Trapper’s head.  The crowd was quiet for a long moment.  Goldion turned and lifted his hammer high over his head victoriously.  The Pit erupted into cheers.  Offlining his optics, Goldion took in his moment of victory.

Behind him, however, Trapper’s body began to move.  It shifted, transforming.  Rising to a knee in robot mode, Trapper held his midsection where the stump of his alternate mode’s head resided, energon surging from the wound.  Was…was he going to die?  Trapper forced himself to his feet, energon spurting out of him with the effort.  The crowd quieted as he did, causing Goldion to look behind himself.

“Huh.”

Trapper held another spear with both hands, wobbling unsteadily on his feet.  All he had to do was…drive it through.  He could…he could do that right?  Drawing the spear back for the plunge, Trapper noted that his vision was beginning to swim, the edges growing dark.  Goldion turned around, a somber look on his faceplate.  Feeling that this would be his last chance, Trapper thrust the spear forward with all his remaining strength, sending the barbed tip through Goldion’s chest plate.

But the blade of the spear was all that went in, and not very deep at that.  Trapper’s optics widened in horror as Goldion seized the spear and began to pull it out.  “You’re tougher than I thought you were,” he said as he yanked it free from his body and Trapper’s hands, tossing the spear aside.

“For that,” Goldion continued, his stance shifting, “I’ll give you a warrior’s death.  Come!  Face your end with that warrior’s spirit!”

Trapper stared at Goldion in disbelief.  He didn’t…he didn’t want to die here.  After a moment of waiting, Goldion lifted his hammer.  “If you will not make a move, then I shall!” he growled as he swung his hammer once more.  Trapper scrambled back hastily, narrowly evading another crippling blow to his side.

Balling his hands up into fists, Trapper lifted them up as his energon made the ground slick under his feet.  He moved in and punched Goldion ferociously, causing the golden gladiator to stumble back a few steps.  “That’s it!  That’s what I wanted to see,” Goldion said with a demented grin, “I’ll crush you and your warrior’s pride into pulp!”

Goldion suddenly lashed out with his hammer with greater speed than before.  Trapper reflexively back stepped, only to slip in the growing pool of his own energon.  The fall put his leg right in harm’s way.  It crunched painfully, yet Trapper bit back his cries of agony.  He struggled to sit up but was met with a swift kick to his side.

Trapper’s vision went dark for a moment.  When his optics flickered back online, he was met with Goldion’s sneering visage and the gladiator’s hand around his neck once more.  Trapper seized Goldion’s arm and squeezed with all his might, trying to force Goldion to release his grip.  The golden mech’s optics widened as Trapper’s digits began to dent the armor plating on his arm.

Tossing Trapper onto his back in an effort to dislodge the reptilian Cybertronian from his arm, Goldion stood over Trapper, hammer in hand.  “This is the end,” he grit out, lifting his hammer up high into the air, “Good-bye.”

_KRAAAK!_

Pain.

_KRUNCH!_

Agony.

_KRSLUP!_

Darkness.

_SHLAP!_

…

 

* * *

 

**The Pit**

“These are the casualties from this cycle’s Pit, Megatron,” Soundwave reported as he and the silver Cybertronian approached a pile of Cybertronian bodies.  Rumble and Frenzy trailed along beside Soundwave with Laserbeak circling above.  “How would you like to dispose of them?”

“Does Scrapper require any more materials?” Megatron queried as he held his arm out.  Laserbeak alighted on it, allowing the silver mechanoid to caress his head.

“No,” Soundwave replied in his usual monotone, “Not until we relocate.  Suggestion:  Feed them to Hun-Grr.”

“His pet is probably already on his way here,” Rumble said, piping up.

“It looks as though something has come and gone at least,” Ravage purred from behind the pile of corpses.  Megatron moved over curiously, accompanied by Soundwave and his minions, to see a trail of energon leading away toward the tunnels.

“Looks like Hun-Grr’s pet already came,” Frenzy commented.

“No,” Megatron said thoughtfully, “If Blot had, then there would be nothing left.”

“Looks like they were dragging themselves along…”  Ravage muttered, following the trail until he reached a large pool of energon.  “Until they collapsed.  Then…they were carried away.”

“Wonder who it could be,” Frenzy said, glancing back at the pile.

“Who cares?” Rumble muttered with a shrug.

“You know…I’m not seeing one guy…he was uh…the first match.  Big.  Blue.  Think his name started with a ‘T’…T…Tr…Trap?  Something-trap?  Ah, guess it doesn’t really matter,” Frenzy said with a shrug, “The guy’s a loser.”

Soundwave turned toward Megatron.  “Your orders?”

Megatron stared at the trail of energon thoughtfully for a moment longer before turning to address his navy blue and white friend.  “Salvage what parts you can and feed the rest to Hun-Grr.  Has Starscream gathered the victors?”

“Affirmative.”

“Excellent,” Megatron said as he began to walk back toward the arena, “Come.  The recruits await us.”

 

* * *

 

**Outskirts of Tarn**

”…ey, I think he’s waking up!”

”Are you sure?”

”What kinda question is that?  Of course I’m sure!”

Voices…muffled.  Hard to make out.  Trapper tried to focus on them.

”Fiiiiiiiiine…I’ll get up…”

”Careful not to ooze anywhere near the big guy, alright?”

“I know, I know!  Sheesh…”

There.  He could hear them clearly now.  Trapper tried to speak.

“Ungh…” was all that he could manage.  His amber optics flickered online, noting two figures above him.  As his optics adjusted, he could make out their features.  One, possessing a mouthplate, was closest to him.  The other stood back a fair distance, watching from afar.  As his systems slowly rebooted, Trapper attempted to rise only to be met with gentle resistance.

“Whoa, whoa there, big guy!” said the one with the mouthplate, “Take it easy.  You’re among friends.”

“Who...” Trapper trailed off shakily.  His voice was weak.  In fact, his whole body felt achy and drained.  “Who…are you?  What…what happened?”

“Name’s Overbite, and that sorry excuse for spare parts over there is Skalor,” replied the one with the mouthplate.  Skalor gave Overbite a dirty look from where he stood.  Skalor glanced down at Trapper, shaking his head.

“Don’t mind that idiot.  He’s got piranacons for brains.”

“At least I do something other than sit around all day,” Overbite snapped back before looking back to the perplexed Trapper.  “We saw your fight in the Pits.”

“Pretty nasty,” Skalor commented.

“They don’t usually set up new fighters with guys like Goldion,” Overbite muttered, clearly bemused.  “Maybe someone screwed up?”

“Who knows?” Skalor said with a shrug.

“After…the fight…” Trapper interjected, the two having strayed off-topic.

“Oh!  Right, well.  Skalor and I were headed home, and we happened to pass by…uh…the loser pile.  We saw you dragging yourself away.  And-“

“Overbite decided we just couldn’t leave you,” Skalor sighed.

“Hey!  We disposables gotta look out for each other!  If we don’t who will?”

“Yeah, yeah…Funny how someone as energon-thirsty as you can be such a bleeding spark…Anyway, we picked ya up an’ brought ya to a clinic that treats us disposables.  A decent one too,” Skalor grumbled, glaring at Overbite sidelong.

“They patched you up, and we brought you back to our place for the time being,” Overbite continued, ignoring Skalor.  “It’s not much, but it’s home.  How you feelin’, big guy?  Alright?”

“I ache,” Trapper replied, finding it a bit easier to get the words out now.

“That’s to be expected,” said Overbite.

“Ya got the tar beat out of ya.  Coulda sworn I saw cracked spark casing when Goldion was whaling on you with that hammer of his,” Skalor said, drawing closer.  A pungent odor crept into Trapper’s olfactory sensors.  He could see lubricants and other substances oozing from Skalor in hideous fashion.  Trapper stared hard at the mechanoid, causing Overbite to look as well.

“Hey!  Give the mech some room before you introduce him to your stench,” Overbite growled.

“Pfft.  He’s gotta get used to it sometime.”

“He doesn’t need this right now!”

“That’s what you say.”

“You oozing waste of-“

“Why?” Trapper asked with enough volume to interrupt the two squabbling mechs.  “I’m not…worth saving.”

“Whoa, whoa.  Don’t say that,” Overbite said, his attention immediately turning back to Trapper.  Even Skalor looked at the blue mech with some concern.

“We already told you why,” Skalor said with a frown.  “Don’t make us go repeatin’ ourselves.  We saw a fellow Cybertronian in trouble.  We helped out.  Ain’t a big deal.”  Turning with a heavy sigh, Skalor looked back at Trapper.  “If ya wanna pay us back, ya can start by resting up for now.  Bah, Overbite, you look after him.”

“Wait a breem!  It’s your turn!”

“You’re better at that than I am.  Best to leave it to ya,” Skalor said with a wave as he began to walk off.

“Agh, that slagging glitch!” Overbite hissed out under his breath.  He sighed and looked back at Trapper, patting him lightly on the shoulder.  He turned around, allowing Trapper a moment to assess his state.  His body ached, but it looked, for the most part, repaired, though he wouldn’t know that for sure until he was well enough to move on his own power.  Right now, his energon reserves were far too low for much unnecessary movement.

“Here,” Overbite said as he turned back around with an energon cube in hand.  A swirly straw stuck out of it whimsically.  Trapper stared for a moment before taking it with one hand.  He sipped from the cube slowly.  After he was done, Overbite took the cube and began fiddling with some machinery.  “Alright, gonna set you up for a recharge cycle.  Let you get some rest.  Understand?”

Trapper nodded.

“See you on the other side.”


End file.
